


Standing Barefoot on the Sun

by Allegory



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Crying, Fluff, Fluffy, Heavy Angst, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, M/M, RinSuke - Freeform, Sad, Self-Harm, actually heavy angst i lied ahaHAHA, angsty, beach, not really idk haha, rin x sousuke - Freeform, sourin, sousuke x rin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegory/pseuds/Allegory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything just feels so wrong— the slight angling of his shoulders, the grains beneath his feet, the occasional sea breeze.<br/>He should not be here. He doesn’t want to be here. The sea makes him sick.<br/>"Rin-chan, is that a bruise?"<br/>Sousuke winces. His eyes flick to the side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Barefoot on the Sun

The beach is where they meet. Every once in a while, the coast is populated by a few teenage boys who barbecue and play pop songs and swim. The summer warmth is raw, intense heat beating down on all eight of them. When each of them enter the water, they can feel the difference between the two worlds— the way cooked sand grinds against their soles, chafing off skin, and the way the water glides across their bodies, the digits of their fingers and toes pushing and pulling against the currents, never relenting, never letting go.

  
Sousuke just watches.  
  
The tall, dark-haired male stands in the middle of the sun's eye. He isn’t aware, but a faraway vulture looks at him like vulnerable prey, like he could be swept off those burning bare feet and have his flesh nibbled off bit by bit. He watches everyone splash about, turquoise highlights of the ocean moulding with their tanned bodies— inviting them, embracing them. Sousuke presses his lips together, feels the dry and cracked surface throb like burnt out charcoal.  
  
_"We're glad you could come,"_ Sousuke plays with these words in his head. The Iwatobi swimmers had hoped for his presence as much as his own swim team. Sousuke’s memories rewind like a broken tape: the first meet, he had not been in town. The next few, rejecting his team had been more than a purely emotional experience.

Everything just feels so wrong— the slight angling of his shoulders, the grains beneath his feet, the occasional sea breeze.

He should not be here. He doesn’t want to be here. The sea makes him sick.  
  
"Rin-chan, is that a bruise?"  
  
Sousuke winces. His eyes flick to the side.  
  
Nagisa has resurfaced, body wet and cool. He's in white pants, cut short at his knees. It's definitely not swim wear— the fabric is soggy and clings to his skin, revealing penguin printed underwear within. The little penguin waddles around Rin, sniffing the cooking steak and wagging his short tail.

Until he notices the black patch on Rin's back.  
  
It's just a small one. Rin had it covered by his high collar jacket, but the heat had won and he'd stripped to a grey shirt. He figured it wouldn't matter; the others were all dipped in the water, busy splashing about. Even when Nagisa came up, the grill's steam had numbed his senses; Rin had barely noticed.  
  
"Ah, this is-" it's instinctive. He reaches back and cups the discoloured area with his palm. The spatula clinks, falling out of his hand and rolling onto the edge of the makeshift table. It makes Nagisa's curious, doe eyes widen even more.  
  
A surge of water registers in Sousuke's ears. His eyes then dart forward. Ai and Makoto— they'd been getting along quite well recently— has overheard the conversation at the shallow end of the water. Makoto has concern knitted in the wrinkles on his nose. His shorter companion runs up to Rin, eyebrows narrowed at the redhead.  
  
"What's the matter, Rin? We're worried about you," Ai chirps, head jammed forward. "It was strange enough that you didn't challenge Haruka to a race, and now..."  
  
The others don't recognise it, but Sousuke knows. It starts with a slight drain of saturation in his face, then his lips part and his jaws hang open, then his eyes— yeah, that's the dead giveaway—they start to glance around in a frenzy, a blind rabbit scurrying in a small cardboard box. And he knows he's completely trapped.  
  
"Thing is, I fell the other day. It's a funny story, actually. Happened in a supermarket, when I was paying and a trolley came crashing towards me and-"  
  
Sousuke's legs start to move by themselves. In a moment, Rin is shielded by a teal jacket and the body of a robust ex-swimmer. Ai and Nagisa feel puny in his shadow. If there's a time he's ever looked on with murderous intent, this is it; no one is amused by his foreboding expression.  
  
"Rin is fine. I'm taking care of the bruise."

Sousuke says it slowly, each word plucked from the superficial end of the cesspool in his mind. They are treading into wild, uncharted territory—and that’s not a place anyone wants to be in, not if they want to go against the near primal, vestige of a snarl on the man’s face.

And as it is, Nagisa and Ai fade, tucking their heads as they shoot each other an uncertain glance. Like the fundamental principles of a dynamic picture, this makes Makoto’s presence much greater; Sousuke shifts his regard upwards. The brunette is the only one who can take the bite in Sousuke's words, who can stand toe-to-toe with the tall male and look into those sullen eyes.  
  
“Rin,” Makoto murmurs, strong stance unwavering. Their eyes—so similar, yet so different—lock, finding armistice an inconceivable daydream then. Makoto identifies something. He is aware.

“Are you okay?”

These words surge into Sousuke’s skin, melting into his bones and finding their way deep into his systems. It causes the cavity of his lungs to shrink, chest to kink with an ill throb that makes his shoulder pain feel insignificant.

Rin knows, too. Sousuke has gone stiff and it pains him to see his best friend being interrogated. So he flips the meat patty and a loud, sizzling noise breaks the silence.

Haru comes up. He asks Makoto if there’s ice cream, as if he has no idea what’s gone on between him and Sousuke and Rin. The tension diffuses with his arrival—Makoto walks away, skin taut beneath his eyes as he goes to the blue cooler. When Sousuke’s eyes fall on him, Haru just shakes his head. Water sprinkles around him, and his expression is the usual, blank slate.

Meanwhile, Makoto reaches down to get the popsicles. He thinks that, well, Haru isn’t the most emotionally able—nor does he try to be.

The popsicles come up.

The lid of the cooler goes down.

Once he turns back, Makoto doesn’t even remember Sousuke anymore.

But this time, Makoto is mistaken. The black-haired boy could see it. It wasn’t hard to catch; when Haru gave Sousuke a once-over, it was as bright as the midday sun— the central eye of it.

To Haru, Sousuke is not intimidating, or aggressive.

He is nothing but a wounded pup, lost and confused beyond the world.

.            .            .

 

Nightfall. Crickets sing outside the inn. Water trickles from a Japanese water fountain, each clonk of the bamboo structure loud and clear. The sounds are in perfect sync—a soothing natural harmony. Cool air breezes into the rooms, just subtle enough to keep the curtains from ruffling.

Sousuke focuses on the grumbling of his stomach. Rin had decided against pestering him to join the dinner part of the ordeal, and he’d been rather thankful for that. A door open and closes. It’s probably his roommate, but with his arm pressed on his face, Sousuke can’t tell for sure.

"Hey, you got sunburned?”

There it is—the familiar, sass-imbued tone of his best friend. Sousuke doesn’t move at first. But Rin doesn’t say anything else, nor can his footsteps be heard—so Sousuke gives in, rolling back onto the sheets. He can get a good angle of the other’s upside down face, and the upward (obviously a trick of orientation) tug of his lips.

“Yeah,” Sousuke replies, curtly. Then he directs his attention to the ceiling.

A heaving sigh can be heard. Rin comes down next to him, creaking the wooden planks, his bath robe gentle against the fabric of the futon. He takes up most of Sousuke’s field of vision. The latter responds by flopping over onto his left.

Rin would probably mill his eyes by then, give Sousuke’s thigh a light prod and go: “come on, Sou. Let’s head out and I’ll buy you a can of cola, alright?” But the air is thick between them and until earlier, neither had spoken one word to each other for days. The redhead had felt each moment they walked pass one another, as if strangers, and the memory draws a frown on his face.

Ultimately, Rin finds courage in concern for his friend. He reaches out and puts a hand on Sousuke’s shoulder. Just below the wound, he can feel the curve of Sousuke’s shoulder sling.

Rin is glad that Sousuke has put it back on.

And Sousuke is glad, too. To feel Rin’s touch, a warm palm pressed against his thin undershirt and thick sling. It fends off the cool air, and Sousuke wishes he could pull Rin down and snuggle up to those crimson locks, slightly sun kissed skin and whiff the aroma of the bath incense.

Sousuke closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them. He lies face forward again to look at the redhead.

“Show me.”

The room goes quiet, even though Rin knows what he’s talking about. He contemplates on his next course of action—and that in itself is a rarity, as far as Sousuke recalls; Rin has always been one to act on his heart, his desires, but here he is struggling against the urge to turn down Sousuke’s request.

It’s because Rin doesn’t want to fight anymore. Neither does Sousuke. And the best way to ensure that is to do as he’s been asked.

The broader male waits patiently to hear the shift of his robe. At some point, it happens. Rin shrugs off the fabric from his back to reveal a blue-black bruise, half the size of a palm.

Sousuke winces.

He gets up, sitting cross-legged behind the redhead. He’s hit by a strong temptation to feel the severity of the bruise, but when his fingers come up, they only manage to hover above the area. Rin can feel the presence of his fingertips, almost brushing against his skin.

“It’s fine,” Rin whispers. “It’ll heal.”

Rin’s words destroy him.

Healing has never been the problem. It’s the bare fact that this has happened to Rin—that Sousuke had _intentionally_ hurt him. That Rin had found him in a storeroom sagged against the wall, trying to dislocate his right shoulder and tried to stop him—and Sousuke had fought back, flung the redhead against the cabinet yelling that it wasn’t something Rin could understand.

The crack of Rin’s body against the hard furniture, it had been like a pin drop. The storeroom was dank, only small specks of light filtering through the gaps of leaves outside—but for once, Sousuke had looked into Rin’s fearful eyes, forced that image into his throat and assimilated it.

And that was when Sousuke had cried.

Sousuke wraps his arms around the redhead’s waist. His hands are trembling, but he clings on, nudging his cheeks against the wound. Rin feels the regret in his wide arms, wishing he had never done something so unforgivable to his best friend. Hot tears sting Rin’s backside, snaking down the contours of his body and wetting the robe.

Rin feels the corners of his eyes burn, too. The redhead will never hold this against him. He wishes Sousuke could understand this, that he has every right to feel broken and torn down by his circumstance.

It isn’t in any way Sousuke’s fault for having hurt him.

And yet, Rin doesn’t know how to say it—words have never seemed right, not after the doctor shook his head at Sousuke. All he does is cup Sousuke’s hands, slender fingers poised above his, as he presses closer to the larger man. Eventually, their fingers interlock. When his tears have stopped, Rin squeezes those fingers, doing the only thing he can: staying by his side.

Rin only hopes Sousuke will feel better in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> //gross sobbing wth sourin stop stop ruining my life  
> angsty broken shoulder situation whoops my hand slipped~  
> tumblr: warmwintersun.tumblr.com (and yes, the sun seems to be a motif in my works). Feel free to chat me up! c: 
> 
> Also, if you have any comments on my writing style (specifically for this piece), I'd love to hear it! Many thanks for reading! <3


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